Raised Diagonally
by celespiral
Summary: At the age of 7, Harry decides there is only so much he is willing to take and leaves Private Drive. But growing up on one's own is never easy, especially when there are people actively trying to thwart your plans.


No, I do not own Harry Potter.

Prologue: Trigger, Aftermath, and Decisions

"Boy" came the enraged yell.

Harry looked up from the weeding with wide, startled eyes. 'What did I do now?' he thought, apprehensively turning to the back door as his uncle came barreling out. Catching Harry in his sights, Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes, and his face darkened to a violent purple. Harry stared, fear urging him to run, but he knew that would only mean he got it worse later. He had never seen his Uncle this mad - not even when Dudley fell off his bike and blamed it on Harry.

"Boy! Get in here!"

Harry scrambled to comply. He tossed the handful of weeds in the half-filled paper bag at his side and stripped off his gloves as he hurried to the door. Uncle Vernon grabbed the back of his collar and manhandled him through it before slamming it behind them.

"Think you can get away with hurting our Dudley, do you? Think we won't know it was you and your no good freakiness to blame?" Uncle Vernon was practically foaming at the mouth as he shouted, spittle flying with every word. Uncle Vernon started forward and Harry backed up. He glanced around frantically, an exercise in futility, as he knew the house like the back of his hand from all the chores he had to do.

He had no idea why Uncle Vernon was angry, but it didn't really matter. His uncle wouldn't care what he had to say. He wished he had listened to that little voice in the back of his head telling him to run. He might have gotten away then; there was no way he'd even make it out of the house now.

His attention snapped back fully to his uncle as the man towering over him said, "Well, you'll learn, boy. I'll make sure of that!" Harry felt the wall pressed against his back, he saw the purple face and red hands clenched into fists, he heard a rushing thunder as his uncle roared at him, and he felt the pain as one fist ploughed into his belly. He started falling and a second fist caught him in the chest. Harry felt something snap. The last thing he remembered was yet another fist coming straight at his head.

Harry woke up in his cupboard to pain. Everything hurt. He tried to take in a breath, but that caused so much more pain in his chest he carefully stuck to shallow ones from then on. Thankfully someone had put him on his bed and he wasn't sprawled across what little floor there was. He'd probably hurt a lot more if that was the case. He listened for a moment, but hearing nothing, figured it was probably night. He turned his head towards the door, but stopped instantly as a wave of dizziness swamped him, and something trickled down his stiff, painful face. He braced himself, and turned his head again. This time, as the dizziness receded, the comforting dark rushed in.

The next time Harry awoke it was to pain and thirst. He quickly learned moving his head rendered him just as dizzy as before, but he no longer past out. Settling his head facing the door, Harry spotted a glass of brilliantly clear water next to him. He groaned softly, not wanting to let any one know he was awake.

He paused for a moment to listen, and heard Aunt Petunia puttering about in her kitchen. There was no music or explosions from upstairs indicating Dudley was not in the house playing video games or watching TV. In fact Aunt Petunia in the kitchen and the washing machine running were the only sounds Harry heard. It was a good bet were the only ones in the house, but to be safe, Harry listened a while longer to makes sure the other males in the house weren't just having an extremely unusual quiet moment.

Convinced the coast was clear on that front, Harry slowly moved his right arm, biting his lip to (unsuccessfully) hold back a whimper. His whole arm was on fire, and his hand felt gigantic. A jostle would be enough to make him gasp, but Harry kept on. He slid his arm up the cot inch by inch, tears running down and making clean tracks through the mess on his face. Harry stifled his sobs as best he could, but he must have been too loud, as Aunt Petunia's noises stopped. Harry held himself as still and silent as possible as his aunt's footsteps came down the hall. Fear replaced pain in green eyes as the footsteps stopped and the door to the cramped hell opened.

"Harry?" Aunt Petunia called, her long, bony face partially shadowed as she peeked through the opening. "Are you awake?"

"Yes" Harry croaked between sobs, confused and desperately trying not to hope at the unexpected lack of venom in her tone.

Aunt Petunia opened the door fully and ducked inside. "Harry, can you sit up?"

Harry gave a heroic attempt, encouraged by Aunt Petunia's changed demeanor, but it was quite obvious it was futile. Fresh sobs followed closely on the heel of Harry's resulting cry of pain. Aunt Petunia blanched.

"Stay there and don't move. I'll be back in a minute," she said, hurriedly backing out of the cupboard and heading back down the hall. Sunlight and cool air spilled into Harry's room, making it a bit more bearable, and despite the pain Harry's crying calmed down some. He could hear his aunt rummaging around, closing a cabinet, and running some water from the faucet. A minute or so later he heard her walk back up the hall.

Aunt Petunia came in silently with a bowl and a piece of cloth. She knelt beside the bed, feet sticking out into the hallway, and dipped the cloth into the bowl.

"What are you doing?" Harry whispered, unsure if the cloth was a good or bad thing.

Aunt Petunia wrung out the cloth and said, "Cleaning you up a bit; then we need to talk." Then she lay the wet cloth over Harry's forehead. Harry let out a short relieved sigh as the cloth didn't burn or irritate him. For a while they just watched each other, then Aunt Petunia reached up and lifted the previously white cloth off Harry's head and rinsed it in the bowl. She wrung it out again, and began gently dabbing where the cloth had rested before. Harry screwed up his face and clenched his left hand - which hurt, but not nearly as much as his right - to keep from crying out. Aunt Petunia rinsed the darkly stained cloth again, and repeated everything on a slightly different section of his face.

When Harry's face and neck were finally clean, Aunt Petunia left the cloth in the decidedly dark liquid and said, "We need to talk. I'm going to go put the bowl away, and then I'll be back. Do not go to sleep."

"OK" Harry croaked, winced at the sound of his voice, and then froze and gasped in pain. Aunt Petunia gave him a sharp glance, but backed out of the cupboard and lifted the bowl and its murky contents away. A few minutes later she returned empty handed.

"I'm going to try to put you in a sitting position. It's going to hurt. If you jerk around or resist in any way, it's only going to hurt more." Harry nodded. He wasn't about to go against his aunt, especially since she was treating him decently for the first time since he could remember. Instead, he resigned himself to the agony awaiting him.

Ten excruciating minutes later, he was panting shallowly, eyes closed, hands clenched and white, but propped up against the wall where a headboard would have been had he had an actually bed instead of an old army cot.

When his breathing had calmed down a bit, Aunt Petunia spoke. "Dudley was riding his bike" Harry gave her an incredulous look, which she frowned at but otherwise ignored, "and there was an accident. Dudley broke his arm and his whole left side is covered in these awful bruises..." She looked as if she might cry, but managed to keep on track. "He had to go to the hospital. The idiot doctors don't realize how delicate my Diddykins is, and sent him straight home. He was only well enough to go back to school the day before yesterday. Vernon was very upset when he heard. He insisted it was your doing. I don't know whether or not you could have done it, and I don't want to, but I know you didn't. You may not be as smart as our Dudley, but you're not stupid enough to do something like this without knowing how Vernon would react. Though I still can't believe..." She trailed off, confusion evident. This prompted Harry's own confusion. Aunt Petunia knew Vernon beat him sometimes, and had hit him with her in the room before, so it couldn't be that. She knew he got worse when he was upset, the rare times he was drunk, or Dudley was involved. Maybe she meant she couldn't believe he'd done it? But hadn't she already said that? Was she talking about how Dudley got hurt, or his treatment in the hospital?

Before Harry could come to a conclusion, Aunt Petunia came back to herself. "You've been out for four days. Ver-"

"Four days!" Harry cried, then stiffened, groaned, and tried his best to regulate his breathing.

She shot him an annoyed look, but picked up the glass by his cot and when he had calmed down enough put it to his lips. He gratefully swallowed half the glass before she took it away and continued. "Yes. Vernon wants you out of the house. I've already had to keep him out of here to get after you again. Vernon isn't going to back down at this point. You'll be leaving sooner or later, and the longer it is, the less likely you'll be able to make it out of whatever ditch or alley he drops you in."

Harry looked at her, almost pleadingly, but held his tongue.

"Don't look at me like that. I can't help you, and I don't want you making my family more of a mess than you already have. If you keep your head down, you may be able to stay until the end of the summer. After that, you're on your own.

I suggest you start planning." She backed out of the cupboard with Harry starting after her. "I'll be back in a few hours to help you eat." Sour expression firmly back in place, she closed the door on his only source of light and fresh air.

Four days, numerous silent meals and awkward trips to the bathroom later, Harry had a plan.


End file.
